


Pawn

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, POV Minor Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-06
Updated: 2011-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roslin Frey at her wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pawn

They never even bothered to tell her.

She had figured it out on her own, of course—if there is one thing life at The Twins taught you, it was how to observe. The eyes were heavy on you from birth till death, waiting for some slip. She had long since learned that it was best to fade into the background and be as inconspicuous and meek as possible. From there you had a good vantage point of the plans of some of the less subtle Freys, of which the number was staggering.

In the end, one of those fools slipped and she had learned and when she confronted her father about it all he wanted to know was what she was going to do about it.

There really wasn’t anything she could do, she thought, as she stared down at the food that tasted like dust in her mouth. She could have said no, but that would have served no good. The plans had been made, and all her defiance would have bought her would be a slight alteration. Another daughter would be where she was now, forcing herself to smile at her husband and hoping he did not quiz her on what he said. There would always be another daughter.

She could rise from her seat and scream out her defiance or, at least, some kind of warning. Anything to give them a fair chance. That would be the right thing to do, the brave thing, an act that would have ballads written about it. But as Roslin sat there, watching the dancers go through their steps and feeling her heart clench with pain, she knew she was not brave. She couldn’t slip, and feel the disappointment and scorn in all those eyes. She couldn’t face the chance of never having another marriage, of being the one who foiled her house’s rightful grasp at justice, of prolonging the war. She knew she couldn’t face a life with that on her shoulders, as the very idea of it turned her stomach almost as much as the anticipation of what was about to happen. She may be just one of a multitude but without them she would be nothing, and she couldn’t bear the thought of being both scorned and alone.

 _And,_ she thought, the sound of the hall nothing more than a buzz in her ears. _Who knows what they would do then?_ She considered how cold steel at her own throat would feel. At least if she did as she was told she would still be here, still breathing, tomorrow.

Her eyes narrowed on the Young Wolf, laughing with one of her cousins. _This is your fault,_ ran through her head, blotting out everything else. _Your fault, your fault, yoursyoursyours. If you had kept your promise, you would be here beside me. And I could smile, really smile, at my wedding and feel pride in playing my role_.

She would still play it, of course. She kept her promises. That is what you did when you were such a small piece of a house, you stayed put. Despite your insignificance, if you moved even slightly out of line it would all come crashing down.

So she played her role, and went through the motions, and made herself as lovely and meek as a lady should, all for the good of her family. For the good of her name. And Roslin knew that in the end she would rise in their esteem, as none of them would ever be able to say she had not done the duty expected of her.

It was not brave, of course. No one would ever write a ballad about her bravery. But then they said the Young Wolf was brave, and what would come of that?

She struggled with these thoughts all through the night and, towards the end, managed to convince herself she was doing the right thing. But when they told her it was time for the bedding she was filled with a mad impulse to make some kind of move. She wasn’t sure what, but in the end it didn’t matter: when she opened her mouth, all she could do was sob.


End file.
